


After Supper

by asexualshepard



Series: The Adventures of Brynja Cousland, Warden of Ferelden [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Cowgirl Position, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Hand Jobs, IS IT COMMON TO TAG POSITIONS????, Light Angst, Love, Love Bites, Marking, Missionary Position, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Woman on Top, someone help me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 10:57:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5245751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexualshepard/pseuds/asexualshepard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An after-dinner rendezvous doesn't go as planned, but that doesn't necessarily mean it goes poorly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Supper

He wasn’t coming. They’d agreed—after supper, they would meet in his rooms. But dinner had come and gone, the sun had fallen behind the walls of Denerim, and still Bryn paced the flagstones beside his borrowed bed, her toes wiggling against the chill. She didn’t have anything to worry about, though, right? She hadn’t given Alistair any reason to stand her up—at least, she thought she hadn’t.

Her feet paused, and the finger being anxiously worried between her teeth slowly fell to her side. Maker, _had_ she done something? Had she pushed him? Had _Eamon_ pushed him? Alistair had always claimed he didn’t want the throne—that he’d sooner die than lead—but she’d known that wasn’t true. He did what was right—or at least what he thought was right. Had Eamon convinced him that this, that leaving her, was best for everyone involved?

Bryn swallowed heavily. Perhaps it was. She didn’t know what the next week would hold in store for them; it was very possible that he was a dream she would never be able to have, that she could lose him to the throne or the darkspawn. It was possible she already had—that he was lost to her already—and that thought made air struggle to reach her lungs, her throat closing around the thoughts swimming through her. What if he hadn’t asked her to his quarters for the reason she’d thought, but to tell her he no longer wanted whatever it was they had?

She shouldn’t have let it get this far. She should have kept him from becoming her sun, should have stopped herself when she let him build a home in her chest. Wynne was right. They were a tragedy waiting to happen, and the only way to stop a tragedy was to cease the story as soon as it began. But it was too late to stop the story. And that was the worst part.

Bryn could practically feel her heart stop beating in her chest as the back of her hand pressed against her lips, keeping a gasp of pain at bay. Tightly, her eyes closed—a dam to hold back the prickles of tears. She should leave. He would have to return eventually, and she knew she should be gone by that time, to avoid inflicting any further pain on either of them.

But she didn’t want to. Though they’d only been in Denerim two days, the room smelled of him, of sun-warmed skin and musk—it smelled like home. With her knuckles still pressed against her cheek, she took a deep breath. A feeble attempt to calm herself. It wasn’t just the smell that kept her feet planted but the desire to make sure they were both on the same page and, were she able to muster enough courage, to kiss him one last time.

Her brow furrowed as she focused—as she tried to muster the calm and fortitude she would need. With effort, her thoughts ceased, and the tears prickling behind her eyes faded, and she then could breathe again.

And then the door slammed open, and whatever courage she’d summoned went Maker knows where.

“Andraste’s—” The door slammed shut once more, and Bryn’s eyes went wide as she watched Alistair slump his back against it for a moment. His own eyes were in a similar state when they found her. Quick fingers reached back to bolt the door before he crossed the room, hands reaching out to take hers and hold them tightly.

“Maker, Bryn, I’m so sorry,” he rambled quickly, pulling her knuckles to his lips even faster. “Eamon wanted to introduce me to a few of the nobles and decided, hmm, best not tell Alistair until it’s too late for him to run away. I swear, if I’d known I would have—”

“It’s alright,” she interrupted.

And it was. He’d wanted to make their date, and the regret that he hadn’t was painted in his eyes and brow. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t ever leave her side, and that knowledge was a comfort. Still, her earlier thoughts of what may become of them in the next week lingered like a dark cloud at the back of her mind. That her voice was even and steady when she continued was a miracle.

“The nobles may get you after supper—” She leaned up to press a chaste kiss to his lips and felt a large grin lift his cheeks. “But I get you for the rest of the evening.”

As she settled back on her heels, she watched the grin disappear and his eyes drift off to the side, away from her.

 _Oh_.

“Or not.”

One of his hands fell from hers, reaching up to run through his hair. “I’d much rather be here with you— _believe me_ ,” he said, his eyes returning to hers. “But Eamon thinks I should join the men of the Landsmeet for drinks.”

Bryn pulled her lips between her teeth and nodded, swallowing her disappointment.

“I’m so sorry.”

She forced a smile to her lips and shook her head. “It’s fine, love.” This time, it wasn’t. “How long _do_ I have you for?”

“An hour?” he muttered. “Two, if we’re lucky. Depends on how long Bann Ceorlic thinks he can avoid me without seeming impolite.”

Despite the sinking feeling in her gut, Bryn brought her hands up to his cheeks, her fingers gently curling beneath his ears. “Then we’ve no time to waste.”

Relief flooded over his features and he stepped closer to her, his hands coming to rest on her waist, thumbs rubbing small circles against her hipbones.

“Maker’s breath,” he whispered, his forehead falling forward to find hers. “I am a lucky man.”

A moment passed—blue eyes watching brown and brown watching right back—and then a gentle kiss. Soft, slow—nice, but not something they had time for. Still, she didn’t rush him, her earlier fears of driving him away making a reappearance in her throat.

With a sigh, he moved his lips to her forehead, pressing them gently to her hairline before tucking her against his body, her head underneath his chin.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in years,” he muttered.

Wrapping her arms tightly around his chest, she asked herself how long it had actually been since they’d spent any time together. In the last nine months, scarcely three of their waking hours had been spent apart, and in the last two days they’d only spent so much time together. It was a drastic, sudden change. As her fingers dug themselves into the fabric of his evening coat, she wondered if this was how it would be from now on.

“Alistair, what are we doing?”

She hadn’t meant to say the words, but she didn’t regret them.

“Hugging?”

“ _Alistair._ ”

He sighed against her hair. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—” She swallowed the lump building in her throat and  leaned away from him, her fingers coming to rest on the side of his ribcage. Her digits flexed as she bit her lip and tried to sort her words. “You and I—there’s… We don’t know what’s going to happen.” When his hand came up to stroke over her cheekbone, she leaned into it.“It’s likely that everything is going to change, and where we end up might not be our choice.”

“Bryn, what’s this about?”

Her eyes closed with a huffed breath. “Honestly?” she asked. “I don’t know.”

He wanted to speak—she could feel it in the way his chest swelled and he held his breath, in how his fingers tightened on her hipbones. But he didn’t. And she was thankful, because she wasn’t done.

“Alistair, I love you.” He opened his mouth to say the same, but she spoke against before he could make a sound. “Sometimes I think about… um…” A blush fanned across her cheeks as she realized what she was admitting. “I imagine… building a cottage in the Bannorn. A little garden out front. Maker, having a bed that’s mine again, and being able to, ah, share that bed. With you, I mean.”

A smirk slanted Alistair’s lips. “You’re blushing, my dear.”

Bryn’s answering pinch made him jump, but also brought a bright grin to his face. For a brief moment, she forgot where she’d been going with her confession—what goal she was trying to attain. When her hand came up to gently grip his chin, his eyes softened, and she managed to regain some semblance of her thoughts.

“I suppose—I mean, what I’m trying to say…” She took a deep breath and shifted her gaze to his shoulder. The hand that had been on his chin dropped to anxiously fiddle with one of the fasteners on his coat. “I can see a life with you. After all this is said and done. But that fantasy hasn’t ever really taken into consideration that you might be king.”

She watched his shoulders drop, and only then did she glance at his face, taking note of the way his brow drooped and the corners of his mouth dipped. While one of his arms tightened around her, the other came up to once more stroke over her cheek. He brought her eyes to his.

“Bryn,” he said, leaning towards her and brushing the tip of his nose along the side of hers. “King or no king, I don’t intend to let you get away.”

“I almost believe you when you say that.”

His brow furrowed and, this time, it was he who took hold of her chin, instead of the other way around. “We’ll find a way to make it work.”

Alistair rarely spoke with conviction. Normally, when he said something, it ended with a question or a joke—rarely serious, rarely confident. But this time was different. There was no jest, no turn of his voice at the end, just a man stating a fact.

And she believed him.

Gently, her hands came up to stroke over the short hairs at the nape of his neck, her thumbs falling against the corners of his jaw. The skin of his throat was warm beneath her palms and, if she focused, she could feel his pulse—slightly quicker than usual, but steady, comforting. She could practically taste his skin when she took a deep breath.

“Okay,” she whispered with a shallow nod.

The stern expression on his face was replaced by a gentle smile, and he leaned forward to press his lips against hers, harder and more insistent than their earlier kiss. His teeth nipped at her bottom lip, and a grin spread there while lukewarm heat spread through the rest of her. It flooded her toes and fingers and pooled between her legs, stirred even further when his tongue passed over the swollen skin, the quiet groans against her teeth turning the stirring to a storm. When his hands drifted to the laces on her breeches, lightning struck, sparks flying along her spine.

“We don’t have enough time,” Bryn muttered against his lips. Making love had always been a long and involved process between the two of them, hours spent pleasing and exploring. However, her body didn’t seem to remember this nor agree with what she’d just said, and her hips swayed towards his fingers.

 “Not with that attitude,” Alistair snorted as he got the knot undone and loosened the waist.

He pushed at her breeches a bit, her thighs peeking out from beneath the dark cotton, and she leaned forward to shove them down the rest of her legs. No matter how eager Alistair was, they truly were short on time, and she knew ‘quickly’ was a foreign concept to him. If they were going to do this, she would have to push him.

Still, Bryn allowed her fingers to skate across the skin at the top of her thighs before she curled her fingers around the hem of her tunic and pulled it up and over her head. Alistair was upon her the moment her shirt hit the flagstones. His hands grabbed and his tongue—ever-present when it came to the pale skin of her breasts—found her flesh, teeth following, hands pressing against her hipbones. She squirmed as one of his strong arms wrapped around her, the fingers of his other hand tracing gently against the oddly sensitive spot beneath her ribs. Teeth tugged at the fabric covering her chest, lips pressed to the swells of her, and—somehow, through the sensations—she noted that his fingers weren’t swirling randomly beneath her ribs, but in precise motions.

_A._

_L._

_I._

She gasped when the _S_ was written on her flesh. The _T_ had her toes curling, her back arching. If the _A_ , _I_ , and _R_ came, she didn’t feel them, too lost in the heat and the fumbling of her fingers as she reached behind her, digits stumbling against the laces keeping her breastband in place.

Alistair’s groan echoed off the stone walls around them as she dropped the garment and he pressed his face to the newly revealed skin. Teeth brushed against her flesh, nibbling at the hard buds, tongue soothing when they became irritated, and he listened to her sighs as her hand fell to rub against her smalls, fingers tracing the warm outline of her center.

Her first moan came when he took a nipple into his mouth and her finger crooked a rather specific way, and that was it. Alistair’s hands fell to find a strong grip on her thighs. A squeak escaped from between her swollen lips as he hefted her up against him, her core leaving damp patches on his coat and her breasts pressing against his collar bone. She wrapped one arm around his shoulders to keep herself upright, but the other hand pressed beneath the collar of his shirt and into his skin, finding that spot behind his left collarbone that he enjoyed so much and massaging it urgently. He answered by taking her shoulder between his teeth. Bryn couldn’t stop her hips from jerking against his stomach, nor could she keep her moan behind her teeth.

“Marks, love,” she gasped, writhing against him as he sucked on her skin. He didn’t stop as his feet began to shuffle them towards the bed.

 “No one will see it,” he reasoned, his teeth dragging over the sensitive flesh. He blew against the mark gently, cooling the saliva there before dropping her down his body slightly and setting his mouth to her neck.

“Alistair,” she warned, her heels digging into the small of his back.

He sighed against her and nipped at her skin one last time. Slowly, he shuffled them the last stretch to the bed, his lips trailing up and down her neck several times, his teeth scraping every now and then. When his shins bumped against the bed frame, his fingers left her thighs and hooked behind her knees before dropping her down onto the mattress.

Her back connected with the soft sheets and she stared up at him, her brows raised in surprise. Alistair was tender, soft; normally, when they fell into bed together, he would set her down gently and lie on top of her, heavy between her legs but no less pleasant. For him to be so rough with her was new. Not that she was complaining.

She sucked her lip between her teeth as her gaze wandered over him. His shirt was displaced—most likely from her wandering fingers—and a flush was climbing up from his chest, tingeing the tips of his ears crimson. His chest rose and fell quickly, his hair was a mess, and the bulge in his breeches was an enticing sight. Maker, she was a lucky woman.

Alistair dropped to his knees in front of her and pulled her smalls down her legs, his eyes finding hers and holding them as he dropped the undergarment to the floor and pressed his teeth to the inside of her knee, nibbling before moving further up her thigh.

A lucky woman indeed.

He took his time making his way towards the apex of her thighs, his fingers tracing up the inside of them as he pressed his mouth to the softer skin nearer her core. Teeth, tongue, suck, over and over. She knew he was littering dark marks across her flesh, but, as he’d so helpfullyclaimed earlier, _no one would see it._

Bryn’s back arched when his mouth neared her, sucking a mark rather close to her folds, and she wiggled her hips in an attempt to find relief—relief he wasn’t yet willing to offer. The string was beginning to coil around his finger, and only when he chose would it snap. He knew her body too well for it to happen any other way.

“ _Maker_ , Alistair,” she keened, her hips bucking upwards. “Time.”

“Oh.” His mouth paused, and he pressed a gentle kiss to his final mark. “Right.”

Finally— _finally_ —he threw her legs over his shoulders and sidled closer to her, his breath fanning over the wet heat between her legs. And then there were lips, and tongue, and his nose pressing in all the right places. A strangled sound fell from her lips as he pressed the flat of his tongue to her over and over in long, heavy strokes. Her fingers traveled down over her breast and stomach to press against his shoulder, silently asking for his hand. Seconds later, his fingers curled around her own, and her nails dug into his palm as he pointed his tongue and pressed it between her labia, his teeth and chin a welcome pressure against her swollen sex. In and out, in and out, once, twice, fifteen times. He knew her—knew she enjoyed the sensation, but that she wouldn’t be able to find release with it alone.

His hand—the one not being destroyed by her own—traveled up her body, taking a breast into his palm and flicking his awful, talented fingers over her nipple. Maker, she could hardly breathe. She tucked her lips between her teeth and bucked against his face, her open hand falling to bury her fingers in his hair and press him against her. When he moaned, she felt it, and she wanted nothing more than to shatter against him.

His tongue pointed once more. Soft, tentative licks were brought upwards until he found the hard button at the top, but he didn’t touch it. He teased. Close, but not close enough, and she didn’t notice his hand leave her chest and drift down her body as she focused on the feel of him around her clit. Not until she felt a finger press into the spot his tongue had abandoned.

“Fuck, Alistair!”

A slow slide, the drag of his digit against her walls. Her chest heaved when he pressed with another finger, and then stroked and searched attentively for the spot he knew would cause her to become a babbling mess of sensation. When he finally found it, she felt like she was choking on air, her lungs unable to find enough oxygen to satisfy. They both knew what was next—what she needed in order to become putty beneath him—it was just a matter of figuring out how long he would prolong it.

Thank the Maker, not long, because he breathed against her once more before covering her with his mouth and flicking his tongue against her clit. The string snapped. Every muscle, bone, tendon in her body went rigid, waves of pleasure running through her insides, and her hand rose so her teeth could bit into the meat of her palm. Though it muffled her scream, it was still louder than she’d wanted, but she found herself unable to care as her thighs clenched around his ears, shaking with the force of her orgasm as her essence fell on his clever tongue. He lapped at her as she continued to convulse, and his hand tightened around hers, grounding her.

Slowly, she came down from her high, and her muscles went lax. His lips pressed kisses to the marks on the insides of her thighs. It took a moment, but her ability to speak returned, and the first thing she did was swing her heel weakly against his back.

“Tease,” she mumbled against the back of her hand. That she could feel him grin against her thigh was both a great pleasure and a great irritation.  

Gently, he pushed her legs from his shoulders and stood. He used his heels to roughly remove his boots, and then his knees were pressing hers upwards as he crawled over her.

“You look rather flushed, my dear,” he pointed out cheekily, one of his arms propping him over her while his other hand smoothed over her ribs, stroking her breasts.

“Ass.”

“ _Bastard_ ,” he corrected.

With a peal of laughter, she reached up and began to attempt to undo the snaps and buttons on his shirt with fingers still shaky from her orgasm. What she lacked in finesse—at least for the moment—she more than made up for with enthusiasm, and soon the shirt was open and being pushed past his shoulders. He knelt over her for a moment, but once his chest was bare he was over her again, leaning down to tenderly press his lips to hers.

“I’m not sure you’ll be able to top that one, love,” she muttered against his smile, her fingers combing through the fine hairs over his pectorals.

He took her bottom lip between his teeth and swept his tongue across it before leaning back, his eyes glinting as they found hers. “That almost sounds like a challenge, my dear.”

“And if it is?”

“Well, we’ll have to rise to it, won’t we?”

With some of her strength and a grin returning, she leaned up and kissed him once more, and then gave his shoulder a gentle shove. He rolled off of her and landed heavily on his back. She followed, her arms on either side of his chest as his arms reached up to stretch, pulling muscles and skin taut. His back arched momentarily, his ribs brushed against her nipples. When he settled back down on the mattress and caught her infatuated gaze, he flashed her a smug grin.

“I believe you said something about time, my dear.”

She snorted as she moved to kneel between his thighs, his calves hanging over the edge of the bed, and then focused her attention on the laces of his breeches. His hips gave little thrusts as her fingers brushed over the tight fabric. When they were loose enough, she tucked her fingers beneath the waistband and pulled them down his thighs as far as she could with her position. His cock—hard and heavy—freed itself and fell against his stomach, twitching and smearing clear liquid against his skin.

“Alistair,” she muttered as her eyes dropped to his erection, heat curling her toes. “Were you not wearing any smalls?”

Her gaze reluctantly left his shaft to move to his eyes, and she found him propped up on his elbows and watching her with wide eyes, large pupils, and his tongue poking out from between his lips. His natural flush had darkened, his chest and shoulders painted red.  She raised a brow while her fingers burned a path over the tops of his thighs, waiting for an answer.

“Sorry, what?”

Bryn smiled and gently took him into her hand. “Smalls?”

A sharp intake of breath and a shallow thrust, and he swallowed heavily before leaning his head back. “They’re not exactly the most comfortable thing,” he explained, his hips continuing to rock. “And since we’re not fighting, well, I—Oh, _Maker_ —I just didn’t put them on this morning.”

Bryn rubbed the pad of her thumb against the underside of his cock, her mind wandering. He’d been without smallclothes for the entire day, and most likely all of the day before, as well. She could have had her hand wrapped around him beneath the table at dinner with a considerable amount of ease. She never would have—Andraste, their situation was too delicate for her to be so bold—but she _could have_.

Taking her lip between her teeth, she shifted to allow her thighs to generate a small amount of friction against her center and squeezed her fingers gently around his cock, stroking from base to tip with a practiced fluidity. Alistair moaned beneath her, hips rising to meet her strokes as his breath came faster.

His hand came down a moment later, grabbing at her shoulder and pulling her up. Her knees came to rest on either side of his waist as her sex gently settled over his erection, her arousal coating him as she leaned her hands on his chest. Whimpers erupted from both of them when his hips pressed upwards. Alistair’s hands grabbed at her hips as she shuffled atop him only to move them to her chest when she began rolling her hips. His fingers kneaded, stroked, his thumbs pressing over pert nipples and making her shudder and dig her fingernails into his shoulders.

“ _Bryn…”_ he groaned, his hands leaving her chest to once more grip her waist, pulling her downwards as he pushed his feet to the floor and the backs of his shoulders into the mattress, rolling himself against her slit. She leaned further over him—angled herself so his tip rolled over her clit with every thrust of his hips—and couldn’t stop the strangled moan that dripped from her tongue. Every slow drag built the tension growing in the bottom of her stomach. It rose and rose and rose, and she found herself rising up on her knees shakily, her breaths ragged as she reached down with both hands, taking his erection in one and spreading her folds with the other.

A string of garbled words left Alistair’s throat as she shifted her knees slightly and pressed the head of him to her slick opening. Slowly, slowly, she sank down, feeling the press of him on every inch of her, the slide of heat that pulled at her until she was seated on him. At some point in this process, Alistair had thrown his arm over his eyes, and his mouth was shut tight, jaw clenched.

They couldn’t have had much more time, and Bryn wanted nothing more than to rise and fall, for him to meet her hips, but he was gasping and shaking between her thighs—he needed a moment. So she gave him one. She willed her hands to move steadily as she smoothed them over his chest, shoulders, ribs. Slowly but surely, as always, his breaths came slower, his muscles loosened, and his hands found hers.

“Alright?” she asked with a smile as his fingers curled around the backs of her hands, pressing her palms further into the skin of his chest.

His laugh was strangled, but the glint in his eyes when they found hers was as familiar as the back of the hands he held against his skin. 

“Not _quite_ the word I’d use,” he said between long, heavy breaths. “But it’ll do, I suppose.”

Bryn smiled, her thumbs rubbing soothing circles into his skin, her heart swelling. She adored these moments. There had been men before Alistair—even a woman once or twice—but she’d never laughed during sex like she found herself doing with him. She loved that they could pause and talk and not have it ruin the moment. She loved that, when he looked her in the eye, she saw warmth and happiness, but that neither of those things removed the desire.

Maker, how she loved _him_.

A slight shift of his hips brought her back to herself, and her fingers curled into claws, nails digging crescents into his skin. With a sharp intake of breath, her knees drew inwards. As she pressed them into the sides of his ribcage, he pulled one of her hands to his lips, his attempt to kiss her knuckles sloppy enough that she considered it mouthing.

A shudder, a smile, and she muttered, “Ready?”

He nodded with her fingers still against his lips. She could feel his breaths against her knuckles as he tried to control them, both inhaling and exhaling through his nose. A quiet moan left her as she tugged her hand free and leaned over him, replacing her knuckles with lips, tongue finding his in breathy gasps and warm, wet strokes. Hands found each other and fingers laced together when she settled back on her knees, palms pressing as she better arranged her legs.

And then, leaning her weight against his hands to give herself some leverage, she lifted herself. Her muscles clenched around him as his shaft dragged tantalizingly against her walls, his fingers squeezed, her thighs shook. Breathy curses shot from his tongue as she wiggled her hips and began to sink down against him once more. It was slow—too much so. At this rate, they would either be interrupted or drive themselves mad.

Reluctantly, she pulled her fingers from between his and planted her palms firmly against his chest. His own fell against her hips, eyes catching hers, tongue sweeping over his bottom lip, and he thrust his hips upwards, nudging himself that small bit deeper inside of her and pulling a moan from between her teeth.

With fingers pressing into muscles and supple skin, they moved together, Alistair lifting to aid her tensing thighs, Bryn pressing down when his hips rose to meet hers. Breath left both of them quickly as he thrust up into her over and over.  Her eyes fell from his to look down her body, past her breasts, to the watch his cock delve into her.  Though she—at some point, somehow—had come to hold herself stationary above him, Alistair had set a pace, rising to meet her. His grunts fell softly on her ears, and her toes curled.

He pushed up inside of her once more and released her hips to pull her chest to his, wrapping his arms around her before rolling them, pressing her back into the sheets. Though one of his hands remained curled behind her back—arching her against him—the other planted itself on the mattress, and he used it for leverage as he pulled back before pounding into her slick heat once more.

Her mouth fell open in moans and whimpers as he pressed into her. She cursed, a groan against the skin of his shoulder, followed by his name in two separate, stuttered parts as her legs spread further and her ankles hooked against the back of his thighs. Every thrust dragged his torso along hers. Chest hair brushed over her nipples, his abdomen riding along her stomach, and still he wasn’t close enough. Her hands found his back and pressed him down onto her. With every thrust, he would stutter briefly before curving his spine and digging into her even further, and every muscle in her body would clench.

When the rhythm he’d set began to falter, his teeth found her neck, and she didn’t remind him not to leave marks. Maker, he could write his name on her forehead so long as he didn’t stop. She could feel herself tightening around him, could feel the string around his finger tug, and she dug her nails into his rear, lifting her hips to meet his with every thrust.

She was sitting on the edge, and Alistair must have known it, because he settled the length of his body completely along hers and dropped the hand that had been propping him to awkwardly slip between their bodies. His fingers ran across the slick skin at the spot they joined before rising to press against her clit. This time, it was her teeth that found flesh, and she bit into his shoulder as he rubbed small circles around the nub. His fingers twitched in a specific way, his cock rammed into her and—with a high-pitched noise she’d be ashamed of later—she fell.

The string snapped, sending wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure through her core, and every part of her body found some way to cling to him; her hands scrabbled against his back, ankles dug into the back of his legs. She wanted to scream— _Maker_ , did she want to _scream_ —but her throat felt like it had collapsed as her jaw locked on his shoulder.  The pads of his fingers continued to massage her clit, his cock still thrust into her at a stuttered pace, and she continued to shatter against him over and over again.

Alistair tumbled over the edge after her, a high pitched whine echoing in her ears as his hips rammed against hers one final time. His thighs jerked and he pulled her tighter against him, spilling himself into her tight heat. Together, the two of them went limp, bodies twitching and sending aftershocks up their spines as they lay together, his torso a heavy weight between her thighs.

It took several more moments for their breathing to find a steady—albeit quick—pace. Only then did Alistair allow himself to slip from her, his breath a heave, and he settled lower on her body, his head dropping to rest on her chest. Bryn’s hands were shaky as they rose to run through his hair. A contented moan vibrated beneath her collar bone, and she smiled before repeating the motion with one hand and allowing the other to draw circles between his shoulder blades.

“Remind me—” Bryn began, her voice still not completely there. “Remind me how you got so good at that?”

Alistair’s snort was nothing more than a puff of hot breath against the swell of her breast. “You just want me to praise your teaching abilities,” he breathed in answer.

She laughed airily and dropped her head back against the mattress, her eyes closing. “Even the best of teachers need a willing student, love.”

When his lips curved in a smile, Bryn could feel it against her skin. He didn’t respond to her, but she knew that he’d taken that as a compliment, and that was plenty—that was enough. She sighed happily as her fingers continued to pull his hair from his forehead and felt his fingers—still somewhat shaky—trace patterns into the skin on the side of her ribcage.

“You know,” he muttered, “I _could_ claim to be ill.”

She wondered if he could feel her heart flutter beneath his ear. “Indeed, you could.”

“And then I wouldn’t have to leave.”

Bryn hummed, a smile stretching her cheeks. She felt his head shift on her chest, and looked down to find his chin resting on her skin, his gaze on her face.

“And then you could stay the night?”

She noticed the way his already flushed cheeks grew a few shades darker, but she didn’t point it out, happy enough to simply watch it happen. Her fingers brushed a few stray hairs back once more only to watch them fall stubbornly the second her digits were gone.

“I could,” she muttered, grinning like a fool.

Alistair’s lips mimicked hers, and he shakily shifted to kiss her—soft and sweet and so very him.

Exhausted, the two of them curled on the bed, whispering quietly about the events of the last few days, foreheads finding each other, fingers stroking. Bryn could feel the rest of the world fall away, any worries she’d had about losing him vanishing. Whatever pain she would go through, moments like these—like the laughter, the smiles, the tender looks—made it worth it.

And when Eamon banged on the door, Alistair summoned the most unconvincing false cough Bryn had ever heard, and they both struggled to conceal their giggles. She found it hard to believe that Eamon had found even a hint of truth in Alistair’s excuse—figured that he must have known that she was there—but she neither cared nor tried very hard to hide her presence.

Still, Eamon left, Alistair curled against her once more, and the two slowly fell into the Fade, hands twined together, resolute in their refusal to let go.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you couldn't tell, I've now written smut a total of two times in my life, and the last time was an m/m pairing about four years ago. I desperately want to get better at it, though. 
> 
> So, if anyone has any advice or constructive criticism, I'd love to hear it--I'd owe you a favor, even. If you don't feel comfortable leaving it in the comments but you still feel like helping me out (thank you, especially) you can contact me on Tumblr--I'm asexualshepard there. 
> 
> Alright. I'm done. Thank you for taking time to read this! :)


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